"Never mind." She rushed to fill that moment of silence, thrusting his ring back in his palm. "I'm being overly sentimental, I know. You didn't expect that from me with all my lawyerly practicality, did you?" She shook her head, babbling and unable to stop herself since her eyes burned and she couldn't bear for him to see her cry. Damn these postpartum hormones still having their way with her. "And so foolish of me, too, since you had no problem walking away from me after we were together last winter. I mean, who walks away if they have an ounce of tenderness in their hearts?"
"Please, listen." He was on his feet, tucking the ring box in his pocket again.
"No. I don't think I will." She held up her hands defensively. "I don't think I can. I was listening very hard a moment ago, and when I didn't hear what I hoped to, I had to ask about it, embarrassing us both." She headed for the stairs, needing to put space between them. "Now, I'm going to return to my room and we can figure out how to co-parent when I'm not completely mortified over needing footnotes to explain my marriage proposals."
He chased her down, capturing her before she could descend the wooden steps.
"You're the only woman to ever break my heart, Tatiana. The. Only." His face was inches from hers, his grip unshakable. "I put everything on the line to come to New York at eighteen and see you. To tell you all the things I have a hard time saying now. Leon made sure my life was hell afterward since I left without his knowledge or permission and he was furious that I would dare to step foot in Jack Doucet's house. But none of that mattered to me because you wouldn't even speak to me."
She spun to face him, her yellow dress swishing around her legs. "I was just seventeen years old, for heaven's sake. My father made me say that."
He thrust his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "I realize that now. Do you think it mattered to me then?" He set her aside gently and shook his head, as if the memory was something he didn't want to think about. "I became a much different person after that, and I know you did, too. It was no fault of yours or mine. But you, of all people, should understand that I don't think I can fall in love in a week these days. I turned off that switch a long time ago."
"You've never been in love? Ever." She didn't believe him. "If you've never been in love, then how do you know what a broken heart is?"
"I'm twenty-eight years old, and call it a cop-out-but I'm married to the game."
"You can't be serious." It added insult to injury that he would use that for an excuse not to get close to someone.
His fierce expression never wavered. "It takes all my time. All my brainpower. Every ounce of my physical energy. Normally, I'm training for hours every day. This week I've sacrificed workout after workout trying to show you how much I want to be a part of César's life. And yours. I wish that was good enough for you, because I'm offering you more than I've ever wanted to share with anyone else."
"So I should be thrilled that I rate higher than your free weights this week?" She wanted to throttle him. To make him see how ridiculous that sounded. To make him stop breaking her heart.
"I hoped you would be happy to sleep in my arms at night and give us more time to fall in love." The sincerity in his eyes hit home, finding a place in her heart.
Why hadn't he said this before? Or did he only go to this argument as his plan B? She didn't want to be his checkdown because he couldn't complete the long pass. She wouldn't be his safe option.
"Marriage is forever for me. I won't gamble on a maybe." She knew he'd said all he could say. That he'd dug as deep as he could for her.
But no matter how much she wanted it to be enough, she knew she would always feel as if she'd settled. As if she'd been too concerned about appearances and married the father of her son to quiet any gossip.
"I respect that." He shook his head, his proud shoulders falling just a little. "But I'm not going to lie. It hurts like hell to think I won't be with you and César every day."
She couldn't agree more on the hurt-like-hell part. But they'd reached an impasse. And no matter how valiantly Jean-Pierre fought to keep a lid on the news of their son's existence, the story was going to come out all too soon.
And despite what she'd hoped, there wouldn't be any wedding news attached to it. Unable to return to someone else's happy event, she descended the boathouse stairs and headed toward the main house, knowing all that remained for her here was to pack her bags.
Thirteen
Good game, Reynaud, Jean-Pierre thought to himself-heavy on the sarcasm-as yet another poorly thrown pass got picked off in practice the week after Gervais's wedding.
Back in New York at the Gladiators' training facility, Jean-Pierre finished up his last practice before the game against the Hurricanes two days from now. The team would fly to New Orleans in the morning and have a meal together the night before the brother-against-brother matchup the media had been hyping for weeks.
His ill-fated reunion with the coach's daughter had only revved the hype to a fever pitch, putting the game in the public eye in a way that went far beyond the interest of football fans. Since news of their son had hit the papers the day after Gervais's wedding, the press had mobbed the Gladiators' practice field during the sanctioned media times, making it impossible to duck their questions. While Jack Doucet-who'd barely spoken to him this week, preferring to glare darkly at him-had texted him a reminder that he did not need to discuss his personal life in the interviews, the questions were nonstop.
Will you live in the same state as your son? What are Tatiana's plans now? As if he flipping knew. As if she cared about him enough to tell him. Her law firm had sent him an efficient packet of options for possible co-parenting agreements, but he'd been too disheartened to wade through the legalese.
"Get your head in the game!" the quarterback coach shouted at him across the field as if Jean-Pierre was a distracted JV player and not one of the league's elite.
Actually, with how he'd been playing all week in practice, the JV comparison felt kind of accurate.
The coach's whistle trilled from the sidelines, calling an end to the day's team workout. Jean-Pierre would still prepare for hours with the offensive coordinator, with the quarterback coach and then on his own to be sure he understood the game plan and his opponent. But whereas at another time he might enjoy the challenge of going up against Henri and really pitting their strengths against each other, this week he felt as though someone had put a fist in his chest and stolen his heart. No doubt this was what heartbreak felt like.
The ache was so literal it was ridiculous.
And how ass-backward was it of him to realize what all that hurt was about now that it was killing him. He loved Tatiana. He was just too blind to recognize that feeling for what it was. He'd spent so much time living in his head, methodically moving through his life, that he'd forgotten how messy and painful emotions could be. You couldn't control them the way you could manage a game plan or manipulate a play.
"Reynaud!" The shout didn't surprise him. Someone or another had been chewing his ass all week for his piss-poor efforts on the field.
Turning, he was surprised to see Jack Doucet himself storming toward him. He noticed most of the rest of the team had already headed indoors to shower up and head home. Actually, now that he thought about it, some of them would be talking to the press since there was a scheduled media hour after this practice.
More time to face the firing squad about his shortcomings as a man. He hadn't even managed to communicate how much he loved the mother of his firstborn. Thinking about that made him welcome whatever diatribe Jack Doucet had in store for him.
"Yes, sir?" Jean Pierre lifted a towel from the metal bench along the sidelines, swiping the sweat from his face and hair. The team had practiced outdoors in the November cold, but the sharp gray wind didn't penetrate a helmet.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, boy?" The coach slammed his clipboard onto the bench with enough force to make the metal ring. "You've got the eyes of the whole football nation on you, and you're lumbering through this week like a homesick rookie."